


You're Worryin' Me like a Dog with a Bone

by certaintendencies



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-28
Updated: 2012-09-28
Packaged: 2017-11-15 05:02:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/523426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/certaintendencies/pseuds/certaintendencies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chord is a brand new werewolf but he hasn’t actually figured that out yet. He visits Chris.</p>
<p>They have sex, eventually.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're Worryin' Me like a Dog with a Bone

The sun is just beginning to go down when Chris pulls into his driveway, setting the hills and the sky ablaze in a haze of pinks and oranges. He gets out and nudges the car door shut with a bump of his hip, picking distractedly through his keys as he shuffles up his walkway. He almost has a heart attack when he looks up.

“Jesus _fuck_! Chord, what the hell?”

“Uh, hi?”

Blinking, Chris looks around, searching for clues as to why Chord would be there, and then settles his gaze once more on his wayward costar. “How did you get here?”

Scrunching up his nose and shrugging, Chord rubs at the back of his neck and squints off down the road. “I jogged.”

Chris decides, after a long moment, that bothering with everything weird about that is far too much work, and instead brushes by Chord to get to the door. He stops in his tracks again when he sees the pizza box and empty two-liter on his welcome mat. Turning slowly, he looks at Chord, eyebrows creeping up his forehead.

“I was thirsty,” Chord says. “After my jog. And they don’t deliver soda without the pizza. I saved you a piece.”

Spinning back around stiffly, Chris steps over the box and fiddles with his keys until he finds the right one. He’s a little afraid of the answer when he asks tentatively, “How long have you _been_ here?”

“Couple hours, maybe.” Chris hears the pizza box scrape across pavement as Chord picks it up. “I don’t know. I just needed to get out, you know? And before I knew it I was here.”

Unlocking the door and pushing it open, Chris stands aside and waves Chord through. And then takes the empty two liter from his hand when it becomes apparent that he’s having trouble maneuvering himself across the threshold while holding it and the pizza box at the same time.

“Is everything okay?” he asks, setting his keys and the bottle down on the table by the front door and toeing his shoes off. He watches Chord out of the corner of his eye, takes in the way he looks around slowly and cocks his head, as though listening for something.

“Yeah,” Chord answers after a moment, shaking his head. “Yeah, I just. I feel weird, you know? I felt like I needed to go somewhere. But it’s nice here. I like it here.”

“Well,” Chris licks his lips and rubs his palms down his hips, turning around to face Chord completely. “You’re welcome to stay as long you need to, I guess.”

“Thanks.” Chord sniffs again, nose twitching like maybe it itches, and he holds out the pizza box for Chris to take. “It’s pepperoni and olive. The piece I saved. I have to pee now.” Gesturing awkwardly at the empty two liter, he pokes his chin towards it and then hunches into his shoulders, rolling his neck awkwardly. “Soda,” he says, unnecessarily.

Chris pulls the pizza box in until the edge presses into his stomach. “Are you on drugs?”

“Nah, man. I just really hafta pee.”

Chris accepts his explanation, _for now_ , and waves him off towards the downstairs bathroom. Chord lopes off, one hand held suspiciously in front of him, and Chris thinks he might actually be cupping himself as he runss. Shaking his head, Chris lifts the lid of the box, peering in curiously and then seizing the remaining piece. Pepperoni and olive is his favorite.  

He wonders if he should call someone about Chord. They’ve always been perfectly pleasant around each other, but they aren’t exactly the type of friends who camp out on each other’s doorsteps without a reason. He should call Darren maybe, or Mark. Yeah, Mark. He’d know what was up.

Chris is almost done with the slice, thumbing through the contacts on his phone and chewing absently when Chord comes back and steals the crust away from him, shoving the whole thing in his mouth with a grin.

“Rude!” Chris declares. “And _crude_ ,” he adds, after being assaulted by glimpses of half-chewed pizza crust every time Chord opens his mouth.

“Better than rusty and crusty,” Chord says through the food, as if that’s a valid point to make. Chris stares at him. Chord stares back and continues to chew, undeterred by the scrutiny. Something visibly occurs to him. “I’ve got a cousin named Rusty.”

Well. “Doesn’t everyone?”

Chord shrugs.

“Fascinating,” Chris murmurs, referring to Chord as a whole.

“’S just a name.”

Chris barks out a laugh and pockets his phone, heading toward the kitchen since most of a slice of pizza hadn’t exactly filled him up. He doesn’t even bother checking the fridge, because even if there’s something in it besides diet coke there’s a good chance it’s no longer edible. His cupboards reveal a few stray cans of green beans, three packages of ramen, one can of Spaghettios, and a half-eaten bag of chips that’s been closed with some sort of claw-like hair accessory that he thinks might belong to Lea. Grabbing the chips with a soft, defeated sigh, Chris closes the cupboard door and turns around only to run smack into Chord, who must have been standing awfully close.

“Sorry,” Chord says, without actually moving back at all. Chris squints suspiciously and skirts around him, unclipping the hair thing from the bag and looking around for a moment before deciding to clip it to the hem of Chord’s shirt. Chord doesn’t say anything, just continues staring at Chris while standing too close.

Clearing his throat, Chris tilts the bag towards Chord. “You want some chips?”

The bag crinkles loudly as Chord reaches a hand in, eyes never leaving Chris’s.

“So, uh,” Chris starts, breaking their weird little staring contest to glance around the kitchen nervously. There are so many things he could be doing right now. He could be writing one of the several things he needs to write, learning lines, actually making use of his workout room. “You wanna catch up on Real Housewives with me?”

Chord blinks. “Atlanta?”

“Duh.”

“Okay.”

They make their way to the couch and Chord sits down next to Chris. Like, _right_ next to Chris, shoulders bumping, pressed together from hips to thighs type close. They’re five minutes and three over-dramatized arguments into the first episode when Chris’s stomach grumbles. The chips just aren’t cutting it. Chris is going to ask Chord if he’d rather have Chinese or Pad Thai, but when he turns around Chord’s face is close enough that Chris can feel every warm puff of Chord’s breath against his jaw.

“Um,” Chris says, almost in a whisper. “Hey.”

“I feel hungry,” Chord says, looking at Chris’s mouth. Chris feels like he should probably be disconcerted by this. Chord licks his lips. “Not like, a food kind of hungry, though.”

“No?” Chris very nearly squeaks.

Chord shakes his head and glances down at Chris’s stomach, which has decided to rumble again. Chord sets a hand on it, slowly, spreading his fingers out and pressing like he’s trying to feel the vibrations. Chris holds his breath and meets Chord’s eyes when he looks up again. Tilting his head, Chord leans in, his breaths coming quick and hot against Chris’s lips.

  
“Are you gonna kiss me?” Chris asks, just to be absolutely sure, because it feels a lot like Chord is going to kiss him, and while Chris is really, so _very_ okay with that, he’s also kind of wondering what universe he accidentally slipped into.

“Probably,” is Chord’s reply, the word sending a whisper of warm breath across Chris’s mouth.

Swallowing, Chris breathes out carefully and gives a small nod. “’Kay.”

Smiling, Chord leans in and kisses Chris, warm and soft and dry, and Chris can’t help but kiss him back.

There’s a telltale heat in Chris’s cheeks when they part that lets him know he’s blushing, but he doesn’t actually mind. His lips are kind of tingly, the hairs on the back of his neck are standing up, and his face is starting to ache a little with how big he’s smiling. He doesn’t mind about any of that, either, because Chord is grinning back just as stupidly.

“Again,” Chris demands with a small, involuntary bounce, and the bag of chips in his lap is knocked to the floor in their haste to get closer.

They wind up rolling off the couch.

Chris clips his elbow on the edge of the coffee table and the chips crunch loudly and in a startlingly satisfying manner beneath him when he lands, but it’s difficult to pay attention to any of that when Chord is licking and biting and sucking at his lips. Chord doesn’t even bother planting his knees, just lays on top of Chris and kisses him hungrily, fingers holding firm to the sides of his face, nails scraping up into his hair. Chris pushes him up, urges his weight up for just long enough to yank the clip off his shirt and toss it somewhere over their heads, and then they’re pressed tight together again, nothing between them but a few thin layers of clothing.

It isn’t until he starts to get hard, and feels Chord in the same predicament pressing against his hip, that Chris realizes what a profoundly odd situation they’re in.

“Mmmphd,” Chris says, and then, once he manages to wriggle his hands between them and push Chord up until he can’t reach Chris’s lips anymore, “ _Chord_.”

“Hmm, what?” Chord’s eyes are glassy, pupils huge, and his lips are swollen and pink. Chris knows exactly what those lips feel like, now.

“I… We should talk about this. About why we’re doing this.”

“…’Cause it feels good?” Chord says, smiling hopefully, and it is almost – _almost_ – enough for Chris.

“No, just-” Chris can’t think clearly with Chord’s weight pressing him into the floor. Rolling them over, Chris winces when Chord falls against the coffee table. He scrambles up and back until he’s on his knees, and looks down at his very confused, very rumpled, unfairly attractive costar. “Why did you come here today?”

Chord sits up, rubbing at the back of his neck. The change in position puts his mouth perilously close to Chris’s again, so Chris pushes himself to his feet and takes a few steps back.

“Don’t-” Chord starts to say, one hand jerking towards Chris before he clenches his fingers into a fist and sets it in his lap, starting again, hesitantly, “Where are you going?”

“Nowhere.” Chris cocks his head and moves to sit gingerly on the arm of the couch. When Chord relaxes, curling a hand around Chris’s ankle with a sigh, Chris lets out a helpless, confused huff. Setting his hand on Chord’s neck and pressing his thumb under Chord’s chin, he tilts Chord’s head up until their eyes lock. “Chord. Why did you come _here,_ out of everywhere you could have gone?”

Chord looks up at him, eyes wide, and shrugs. “I was just… I just needed to.”

Chris drops his hands back to his sides. “You needed to,” he echoes, as though that will help it make more sense.

“I needed to get out of the house, so I put my shoes on and went outside,” Chord continues, not looking at Chris anymore, but staring down at his knees. “And once I was outside I felt like I should be running. Going somewhere.” Shrugging, Chord looks up. “And then I realized I was going in your direction and as soon as I thought of you I needed to be here. With you. It felt like, sort of like, when I said I was hungry?”

“But not food hungry.” Chris remembers.

Chord shakes his head. “That’s weird, right? I just… I just want to be near you and touch you and smell you.”

Chris chokes a little, on nothing, sputtering until he can finally speak again. “ _Smell_ me?”

Chord nods.

“That’s…” Chris rests a little more weight on the arm of the couch, clearing his throat again. “Yeah, Chord, that’s a little weird.” He thinks about it, about Chord’s lips and nose and the prickle of his stubble buried in Chris’s neck, the rush of air over kissed-wet skin as Chord breathes in deep. “But, um, kind of hot? Maybe?”

Chord perks up a little at that, smiling hopefully.

Laughing and throwing his hands in the air, Chris looks at the ceiling for a moment, and, finding no answers, looks back down at Chord. “What are we doing?”

“Talking,” Chord says definitively. Chris kicks him gently in the shin. “We _could_ ,” Chord continues, ducking his head and peering up at Chris, “be making out. But we’re not. We’re talking.” The last word is said with a frankly impressive amount of disdain, and Chris sits up straight, turning his head a little so he can properly side-eye Chord.

“You just wanna smell me some more.”

“That’s…” Chord gets a sort of constipated look on his face, and then shrugs. “That’s pretty accurate. I mean, it’s not all I want to do to you, but you smell really, _really_ good.”

Chris bites his lower lip, trying not to laugh and to think of something to say at the same time.

Chord apparently does some mental calculations, because he soon feels compelled to add, “Like, _really_ good.”

“Oh, shut up and kiss me,” Chris breathes, grinning, and then finds himself wholly unprepared to handle the full force of Chord launching himself into Chris’s lap. He loses his precarious perch on the arm of the couch, but somehow they manage not to fall again. Instead, they do a sort of wobbling dance, throwing their weight around and winding up against a wall, Chord pressing Chris firm against the hard, unforgiving surface and baring his teeth so he can push them against the side of Chris’s throat.

Chord breathes in, a deep, satisfied rumble vibrating in his chest, and Chris tries not to let his knees buckle.

“Again,” Chris says through a groan, “ _weird_.” He tilts his head so Chord can reach his neck more easily. “But hot.”

“Mmm.” Chord worries at his jaw and then drags his tongue across it. “Like you.” He kisses back down to Chris’s neck and murmurs against it, “Weird and hot.”

It’s not exactly a love letter, but Chris’s hands fist against Chord’s shoulder blades and hug him closer. Thunking his head back against the wall, Chris smiles at the living room light fixture. Weird and hot.

Chord starts humping his hip.

“Slow,” Chris gasps, fingers curling into the back of Chord’s shirt and gripping tight. “We should, ah, _god_ , we should slow down.”

Chord licks a line, hot and messy, from Chris’s neck to up behind his ear, and then rolls his hips in again, torturously, _glacially_ slow.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Chris mutters, shoving at Chord’s shoulders until he can push off from the wall and stride towards the stairs, dragging Chord behind him by the hand. “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it on a bed.”

They make it all the way to the top of the stairs before they’re on each other again. Chord crowds Chris against the wall in the hallway and tugs on his ear with his teeth. Hands slipping low, Chris slides them up under Chord’s t-shirt and scratches across his smooth, hot skin, shuddering with every humid breath against his ear.

“Bed,” he mutters, grabbing Chord by the waist and twisting away from his nipping teeth. “C’mon, clothes off and then bed.”

The idea goes over well, judging by how quickly Chord loses his shirt. Not that Chris has any room to judge; he has his pants undone and shoved halfway down his hips by the time they hit the bedroom.

He manages to flick the light on before he gets distracted and backs Chord onto the bed, pushing him flat and then staring down at his mussed hair and flushed face as he struggles to sit back up. Chord looks back, taking him in with wide eyes and a softly muttered and matter-of-fact, “ _Dick,_ ” when his gaze reaches the front of Chris’s underwear.

“Oh my god,” Chris moans, laughing and covering his eyes. He spins around and flops back, landing next to Chord and not taking his hand away from his eyes until Chord pulls his arm back. Fingers trace his forearm, pressing the wrong way against the fall of the hair, making it stand up, which sends shivers from his wrist all the way to his chest.

“What?” Chord asks, smiling, when Chris finally opens his eyes.

Shaking his head, Chris grabs the front of Chord’s shirt and pulls him closer. “Nothin’,” he whispers against Chord’s lips, grinning through the word.

They finally manage to get mostly undressed after that, Chord wiggling out of his pants while Chris pulls his shirt off. Chord hinders more than helps Chris with taking off his jeans, but the feel of his palms running down Chris’s thighs is totally worth it. They pause after that, Chord kneeling over Chris, both of them in their underwear, only moving again when Chris can’t stop the giggle that comes out as he realizes Chord is wearing bright red Angry Birds briefs.

“Shut up,” Chord laughs, shoving at Chris so that he falls over and buries his laughter in the pillows. The mattress dips when Chord drops down next to Chris.

“I’m sorry,” Chris says once he’s got himself under control. He pushes himself up and bites his lower lip, closing his eyes when Chord leans in to kiss him again.

“Don’t make fun of my underwear,” Chord murmurs in between kisses, laying Chris back down against the pillows. “They’ll smash all your pigs.”

“I can’t believe you just said that,” Chris tells him, but wraps his arms around his shoulders anyway.

He’s sliding a heel along the back of Chord’s leg when he feels it, a rough spot marring the smooth skin of Chord’s calf. Chord yelps a little, jerking back from the kiss, and Chris sits up, confused. “What’s the matter? What was that?”

“Dog bite,” Chord admits sheepishly, sitting back and curling his legs in front of himself so Chris can see.

The wound is an angry red, the tooth marks scabbed over, but just barely. The skin around it is hot when Chris traces it carefully with his fingertips. “A _dog_ did this?” he asks, glancing up at Chord.

Chord shrugs. “I was out jogging last night and it came outta the bushes. I musta scared it or something, ‘cause it just snapped once and yelped and ran away.” He twists his leg to get a better look at it. “It wasn’t like, foaming at the mouth or anything. You think I should put some Neosporin on it?”

“Chord, are you- Are you serious?”

“I couldn’t find any at my place.”

Chris stares at him.

“I cleaned it off!” he declares defensively, pulling his ankle closer to himself and bending over his leg protectively.

“Oh my god. I have something in the bathroom. It might help with the infection, even if it does nothing for the _rabies_ ,” he grumbles as he slides off the bed, walking awkwardly to the bathroom because his boner refuses to go away entirely. “Stay there,” he calls over his shoulder, flicking the bathroom light on and rummaging through the medicine cabinet until he finds his well-stocked first aid kit. He heads back into the bedroom, searching through the case to find what he needs. “Okay, this should be able to-”

He stops talking, then, after glancing up at the bed, because standing in the middle of the mattress, massive and inexplicable and panting very slightly, is a dog. A _blond_ dog that looks sort of like what you would get if a golden retriever had it off with a dire wolf, and it just so happens to be _wearing Chord’s underwear_.

“Oh my god I’m being punk’d,” Chris whispers.

Looking around the room, he sees no obvious sign of Chord, aside from his discarded clothing and the angry bird briefs on the dog. Through the open curtains, the moon catches his eye, full and round and glinting clearly over the Hollywood hills. Chris shakes his head and takes a step towards the bed, trying to see behind the other side of it, in case Chord is there. “Chord?”

The dog-wolf- _thing_ whines a little, taking a small step towards Chris, and without hesitation Chris drops his first aid supplies and makes a break for the bathroom, slamming the door behind him and pressing himself against it.

“This isn’t happening,” Chris whispers to himself, eyes wide and staring unseeingly at the shower curtain. “I don’t know what this is, but it is _not_ happening.”

There’s movement on the other side of the door, and Chris strains to hear it, cursing the loud thrum of his heart that threatens to drown everything else out. “Chord?” Chris calls, wondering where he is. His tentative query is met with a whine and a yelp. The dog is right outside the door. “Chord?” Chris asks again, his voice a lot softer than he means it to be. The dog whines again, and scratches at the bottom of the door.

“Oh god,” Chris murmurs. “Oh my god.” The bite, the underwear, the _sniffing_. “This isn’t possible,” Chris says, unsure if he’s telling himself, or the creature making pathetic noises just outside the door. He says it a little louder, just to make sure the dog hears him clearly, as if that will make it true, “This isn’t possible!”

The dog yelps, obviously as upset as Chris, and then Chris hears a noise that makes his blood run cold. It’s a familiar sound, a low, displeased yowl. “ _Brian_ ,” Chris realizes, just as the yowl turns into a hiss. Spinning around, Chris fumbles with the door handle for a second before throwing the door open. “Stay away from my-!”

Chris blinks.

The dog is on his back, belly exposed and tail, though trapped awkwardly down one leg of the briefs, trying to wag. Brian slinks over, sniffing daintily at the dog’s muzzle before scrubbing his cheek along it with a happy trill.

Chris watches them for a few more seconds before backing up and closing the bathroom door, blocking them from view.

Taking a few calming breaths, Chris stares at the hand towel hanging on the back of the door. He can deal with this. He can totally deal with this. At least Chord had the decency to be a _nice_ creature of the night, instead of a bloodthirsty, evil one. 

Straightening his shoulders, Chris comes to a decision and opens the door. Brian is kneading at the dog’s pink belly, purring contentedly with his paws stretched out in front of himself.

“Chord,” Chris says, oddly calm. The dog perks up, ears twitching and tail thumping hard against the floor. “Chord, come here.”

The dog looks down warily at Brian, but scrabbles up and steps around him, trotting over and plopping down on its rear end without being prompted.

Chris sinks to his knees, reaching out tentatively and scratching behind Chord’s ears when he lowers his head. “Chord,” Chris whispers, feeling lost. “You’re a werewolf.”

Chris doesn’t really know what to do after helping Chord out of his stupid red underwear, and Chord isn’t in much of a state to offer any suggestions, so after a few cursory tests to prove it’s Chord and make sure Chris hasn’t merely gone insane, (a few easy math  that Chord answers in barks, and a short and slobbery session of Chord trying to lick every picture of himself Chris has saved on his phone), they end up curled next to each other on the bed with the lights off.

Chris buries his fingers in the thick scruff around Chord’s neck, staring at the far wall. It’s silver in the moonlight, and blank, because things on his bedroom walls just make it harder to fall asleep. “You’d better change back in the morning,” Chris murmurs.

Chord twitches his ears up and rolls over onto his back, looking at Chris with the mournful puppy dog eyes of an actual canine. He _wuffs_ softly and rolls over farther, leaning forward to bump his wet nose against Chris’s cheek.

“Stop being cute,” Chris grouches, but he scritches under Chord’s chin despite his artificial irritation, rubbing his hand down Chord’s chest until he can feel the quick beat of his heart. “You’ll be back in the morning, right? There’s no way I’ll be able to explain it if you stay a dog, and then I’ll go to prison for murder because I’m the last person who saw you alive.”

Chord growls and tucks himself up close to Chris, stretching his neck out and pressing it hard into Chris’s throat. Chris can feel the heavy vibrations of the sound shake through him, tickling his insides and comforting him in a strangely primal way. “Okay, okay,” he mutters, shoving Chord away so that he can swallow. “Go to sleep. Maybe this is all a dream, and when we go to sleep, we’ll actually be waking up.”

Chord comes back to lick at Chris’s jaw, his tail thumping loudly against the mattress. Chris tangles his hand in the fur at Chord’s neck again, blinking lethargically at Chord’s paw when it rests over his wrist. “Go to sleep,” he mumbles again, eyelids heavy. “Jus’ a dream.”

*

It’s not a dream.

Chris figures that out when he wakes up from restless sleep and an actual dream only to find Chord shifting under his arm, fur and snout receding, human features growing and shrinking and sliding into place.

Chris rolls off the bed with a startled yelp, and when he makes it back up to his knees, peering cautiously over the edge of the bed, Chord is fully human, and fully naked, and at least slightly dazed.

Chord looks down at himself, holding his arms straight and twisting his wrists. Looking around the room until his gaze lands on Chris, he blinks a couple of times, and then rubs his eyes. “ _Cripes_.”

Laughing, Chris scrambles onto the mattress and throws his arms around Chord’s smooth, pink, _human_ shoulders, burying his face in Chord’s hair.

Chord clutches him back, letting out a wet-sounding laugh and digging his fingers into Chris’s sides. “I’m a werewolf.”

“You’re a werewolf,” Chris agrees, wiping his eyes and sitting back on his knees when Chord’s grip lets up.

Sucking in a shuddering breath, Chord lets it out slowly and looks at the ceiling for a moment, before turning once more to Chris, reaching his arms out.

Chris falls into them, allowing himself to be manhandled into Chord’s lap, and then smiling when Chord shoves his face in Chris’s neck and sniffs.

“Again with the smelling thing?” Chris asks, even though he doesn’t really mind.

Chord shrugs. “You still smell really good.”

He must smell very good indeed, judging by the way Chord’s dick is pressing up against Chris’s ass, getting harder by the second. “Oh my god, seriously?”

“Been wanting to do this all night,” Chord admits, snuffling up into Chris’s hair and then nuzzling down the side of his face until they’re kissing, with Chord still trying to talk against Chris’s lips. “You have no idea how, mmm-” He rolls his hips up, arms tight around Chris’s waist, keeping them pressed tightly together. “How freaking hard it is to not hump the things you want to hump when you’re a dog.”

“I appreciate your restraint,” Chris groans, tilting his head back and grinding his ass down. “But if we’re doing this, let’s not talk about how sometimes you turn into a dog, okay?”

“’Kay,” Chord agrees easily, sliding his hands up Chris’s sides to his back and then down again, fingertips pushing under the waistband of his underwear. “I wanna see you.”

Nodding, Chris lets go of Chord and allows himself to be pushed back onto the mattress. He raises his hips when Chord tugs his briefs down, and then lifts his legs, shivering a little as Chord’s hands pass down the length of them, warm and sure. Tossing them off the bed without looking, Chord takes a few moments to stare at Chris.

Blushing at the honest, appreciative scrutiny, Chris gets his arms under himself so he can push up on his elbows. “What?”

Chord just shakes his head, dropping forward and holding himself a few inches above Chris. He bends down to press their lips together and their chests brush, cocks twitching against one another and making them both gasp into each other’s mouths.

“Still kinda want to hump you,” Chord confesses, thrusting down with his hips but keeping the rest of them separate. “But that doesn’t seem very romantic.”

Chris shifts his weight to one arm, reaching up and tracing his fingernails through Chord’s hair, across his scalp. “You’re trying to be romantic?”

“Maybe,” Chord shrugs, rocking down again.

“We- _uhhn_ , well. It’s the thought that counts, I’m pretty sure.” He flops back down to the mattress, wrapping his legs around Chord’s hips to keep him close. “Hump away.”

Grinning, Chord drops his weight down, pressing Chris into the mattress and trapping their cocks between them, pushing dry and hot against one another, sliding into the grooves of their thighs.

“Shit,” Chris mutters, hands slapping down against Chord’s ass. He hides his eyes in Chord’s shoulder and rides along with his steady, heavy thrusts, the dry friction sending devastating sparks up through his spine. Chord snuffles at a spot behind Chris’s ear, worrying it with his tongue and his teeth, blowing gusts of breath over the damp, tender skin every time they catch each other just right.

Chris groans as Chord drops all of his weight down on top of him, using one of his newly freed hands to tilt Chris’s head back and get even closer. “You’re gonna leave a mark,” Chris cautions.

Chord smiles against his neck, thrusting hard. “Already did.”

“Asshole,” Chris accuses, breath hitching at the responding growl in Chord’s chest.

Chord pushes off him an instant later, chest heaving and a predatory glint in his eye. “Yeah.”

“Yeah what?” Chris asks, trying to catch his breath back.

The drop of Chord’s gaze from his face to his cock and then lower is the only warning he gets before his thighs are being dragged up, fingers pressing hard into his legs, his ass, as Chord ducks down.

“What- oh my god, Chord- _Fuck_ , oh my god.” Chris’s eyes roll back in his head, and his hands slap around blindly until one of them catches in Chord’s hair, holding him still even as Chris fights the urge to twist away. It’s _wet_ , it’s Chord’s tongue and it’s _wet_ , licking up from his hole to his balls and dragging sloppily back down again. “What the fuck are you _doing_ , Chord, holy fuck.”

“You want me to stop?” Chord murmurs, and Chris can feel it, feel the words, vibrating into his skin.

“ _No_ , god.” Never. “Don’t stop.”

“Then quit _wiggling_.”

“I can’t,” Chris laughs, a little desperate. Chord scrapes his teeth and sucks a kiss right over Chris’s hole, and Chris’s hips squirm, his breath rushing out of his lungs only to catch in this throat as a sob.

Chord licks again, slippery and wet and pushing _inside_ , and a hand presses flat against his stomach, even as Chris arches his back with a cry.

“Hold. Still.”

“I can’t,” Chris yelps, rocking into Chord’s busy mouth and then jerking away. “I really can’t, I’m s- ah, _fuck_! I’m sorry!”

Chord pulls away, and Chris lets out a supremely embarrassing whine at the loss, but before it can even taper off he’s being flipped onto his stomach, Chord’s hands huge and sure around his middle. His knees are shoved under him, pushing his ass up, and Chord’s mouth is back on him in an instant. He struggles to get onto his hands, but Chord reaches around him on each side, long fingers twisting around his wrists and pulling his arms back, holding them fast so he’s stuck with his chest and his cheek to the mattress, unable to move except to grind himself back into Chord’s face.

“Chord, Chord, please,” Chris whines, eyes clenched shut as Chord’s tongue shoves inside him again. Teeth and lips and stubble scuff against tender skin as Chord just pushes in tighter, hotter. The fingers around his wrists grip him harder, pull him closer, and Chord drags his cheek up to rest it against the swell of Chris’s ass, breaths coming in hot puffs over his wet, sensitive hole.

“Please what?” Chord asks, his voice rough.

Chris doesn’t really have an answer, except maybe _more_ , but his response dies in his throat when he realizes Chord is taking suspiciously deep breaths through his nose, and he’s started to _nuzzle_.

“Oh my god,” Chris breathes, high and incredulous, burying his face in the blankets.

“You sure say that a lot.”

 “Stop sniffing my ass and get back to the licking,” Chris grinds out, screwing his hips back when Chord obliges.

He lets Chord fuck him with his tongue, pillows his head on his arms when Chord lets go of them to spread him open wider, and manages to hold relatively still.  Chord shoves into him deeper and wetter and filthier with each slippery thrust, and Chris keeps his eyes shut and rocks into it, cock achingly hard and dripping precome steadily onto the comforter, until Chord pulls back with a growl.

Chris follows him back, whimpering a little at the sudden loss, and Chord rubs soothingly at his sides.

Nosing his way up Chris’s spine, Chord drapes himself across Chris’s back and bites at his neck, breaths coming in shuddering waves. His cock slots perfectly in the slicked up crack of Chris’s ass, and he’s thrusting before Chris can make out just what it is he’s murmuring into the nape of Chris’s neck.

Chris groans, rolling his head to the side and exposing the tendons in his neck, listening to the panted chanting of _Chris_ and _fuck_ and _need you_.

Chord keeps rocking against him, faster and harder and more desperate with each drive of his hips, and Chris reaches a hand beneath himself, wrapping it around his cock and trying to keep time. Working his fist, tight and slippery and quick, Chris shoves his ass up as high as he can, choking off a moan when Chord slaps a hand down against the side of his ass and then squeezes, kneading as his chest rumbles and his hips start to jerk and twitch.

Chord snarls when he comes, the savage sound at odds with the careful way he sets his teeth against the side of Chris’s throat and holds them there.

“Fuck,” he whispers, pants it into Chris’s sweaty hair. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Chris can feel Chord’s cock twitch through the slippery mess on his lower back, and he redoubles his efforts, twisting his fist around the head of his cock and groaning into his forearm, half a breath from coming when Chord knocks his arm away and flips him onto his back.

“No no no,” Chris cries, hands reaching blindly. “No, I’m almost-” but before he can finish his protest, Chord wraps his lips around Chris’s cock and sinks down, cheeks hollowing and tongue sliding along the underside of it. With a strangled shout, Chris shoots down Chord’s throat, coming for what feels like an eternity and unable to stop shivering even after Chord pulls off and has finished licking him clean.

He’s staring at the ceiling, trying to get his breathing back under control, when Chord climbs up next to him, arching onto his shoulders and pushing at the mattress with his feet until they’re flush together. He slumps back to the bed with a sigh, and Chris turns to look at him.

“Good morning.”

Chord grins a little, glancing at Chris without turning his head. “’Morning.”

“So,” Chris says unnecessarily, licking his chapped lips. “Werewolf sex, huh?”

Chord nods, licking his own lips, which are pink and swollen and wet. Chris’s throat goes dry, and he turns to look back at the ceiling. “I could probably get used to that.”

Chord nods before Chris can wonder if that was presumptuous. “Good,” he says, rolling over to look at Chris, tucking his hands beneath his head. “Because you taste even better than you smell.”

Blushing at the thought, and wondering which one of his tastes Chord is talking about, Chris closes his eyes and smiles. “Thanks.” He shifts against the bed, wincing when it becomes apparent that Chord’s jizz all over his back has effectively glued him to the comforter.

“What’s the matter?” Chord asks, frowning when Chris makes a face.

Chris shrugs. “I’m very sticky.” He assesses the rest of himself. “And I kind of have to pee.” Sitting up with a lazy grunt and a grimace, Chris rolls off the bed and stands. “I’ll be right back.”

He can feel Chord’s eyes on him all the way to the bathroom, but he wills himself not to feel too embarrassed. The guy had his face in Chris’s ass, after all, and hadn’t minded.

The morning sun is shining through the high window in the bathroom, streaming bright and clear and illuminating the small, open space. Chris does his business, humming a little and then cutting himself off when he remembers that Chord can totally hear him. He turns around, about to ask Chord if he wants to share Chris’s shower, and almost has a heart attack.

“ _Jesus_ , Chord!”

Chord looks at him sheepishly from where he’s standing a few inches away. He glances awkwardly at the toilet, gesturing stiffly with his chin. “I kind of need to pee on that.”

“On my _toilet_?” Chris asks, voice going shrill on the last word.

“No, just, on your…” Chord trails off, waving a hand towards the toilet bowl and rubbing at the back of his neck.

Chris stares at him for longer than is comfortable. “You need to pee… on my pee.”

Nodding, Chord looks up from his abashed inspection of the tile. “Yeah?”

Snapping his jaw shut and spinning around, Chris tugs the shower curtain back and twists the knobs on, grumbling softly, “You better not ever need to pee on _me_.”

“I won’t,” Chord assures him quickly, and then, a little bit later, almost too soft to hear over the spray of the shower. “I don’t think.”

_Werewolves_ , Chris thinks uncharitably, shutting the curtain behind himself and grabbing his loofah on a stick.

“Is… is everything okay?” Chord asks tentatively from the other side of the shower curtain.

Chris closes his eyes, calming himself down.

Getting peed on wouldn’t be the end of the world.

Sighing, Chris pulls the curtain back a few inches and peers out to find Chord standing there uncertainly. “Yes,” he says. “Everything’s fine.” Putting the loofah back, he grabs a washcloth and holds it out. “Now come wash my back.”

Chord grins and ducks under the spray.


End file.
